Tiny McGinty
by hazelmom
Summary: Catching up with an old war buddy should never finish at the end of a hangman's rope. The Bromance continues. And the story is FINISHED. Please read.
1. Chapter 1

12

Author's note: I have been pulled into another story. I hope this will find readers. I loved writing Fevers. Please let me know what you think. It inspires me to keep going. This story is set 6 months after Fevers and Watson is married, but it can be read as a stand alone. And to those who read Fevers, you know that I am truly Professor Moriarty.

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 1

Holmes was laying on the floor spread eagle when Mrs. Hudson walked in. She couldn't stifle a shriek at the sight. It wasn't the first time she'd found him passed out, but there seemed to be no way for a woman of her delicate temperament to deal constantly with the constant and, at times, unsavory surprises she encountered whenever she opened his door.

She gathered her wits as best she could. Holmes could smell fear. She shook her head and strode past the prone detective, putting the tea service down on the dusty, cluttered table. She closed her eyes again and waited. He still hadn't stirred. She thought about shaking him, but she remembered times when startling him had not gone well. She reached over and picked up the fireplace poker. She maneuvered herself so that she was close to the door in case there was need for escape.

She took the poker and pushed at his side. Nothing. It occurred to her that with Holmes' dangerous habits, this could be the time that her most esteemed boarder went one step too far. A sense of fear grew in her gut, and she bit her lip. Was this the moment she'd so dreaded over the years? He was a difficult boarder, but he was also a very brilliant man, and her status in the neighborhood benefitted from the fact that she housed the most famous detective in the world. People expected that she would take good care of him.

She carefully knelt and leaned over his body. His face was pale and she could detect no signs of breathing. What if he had been poisoned? The police might not understand that she wasn't responsible for all he ingested. They would go through her larder, tear up her house, and it would be in all the papers. Her reputation would be ruined.

A small sob escaped her and she slapped his cheek lightly. Then again and again. No movement. "If only Dr. Watson was here," she lamented.

She leaned over once more to study his face. Nothing moved. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

"Nanny!"

She fell back, knocking her head against the wall.

* * *

She awoke on the settee, Holmes sitting across from her enjoying his tea.

She lifted her head. "What happened?"

"A prank really. I thought it would be amusing to fool you a bit. Didn't foresee you bumping your head. Sorry about that."

"Mr. Holmes!"

"I know. I know. My usual company hasn't been seen on site this last week"

Mrs. Hudson rubbed the egg on the back of her head. "Please go apologize to Dr. Watson. Life is much more tolerable when he's a regular presence."

"Impossible! He was unfair, cruel even. Accused me of heinous behavior."

"Whatever he said couldn't have been that bad. Dr. Watson is one of the most civilized people I know."

"Wasn't civilized last week. He was a bit rabid actually."

She sat up and smoothed her skirts. "I don't believe it, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure it was a simple misunderstanding. Doesn't sound at all like Dr. Watson, does it?"

Holmes frowned. "It was a bit out of character, I suppose."

"Sounds to me like something is wrong for him to act so strange and all."

Holmes folded his arms.

Mrs. Hudson patted her hair. "But I suppose if your ego is wounded, you wouldn't notice that."

He glared at her.

"Well, I can see that my counsel isn't being appreciated. I'll leave you to your tea then, Mr. Holmes."

He watched her exit and stared at the door long after it closed.

* * *

"Why are you crying?!" He demanded when she opened the door to him.

"Holmes, show some decency," Mary said as she brushed at her wet cheeks.

"Where's Watson?" He asked as he brushed past her. "I came over so he could apologize to me."

"I thought you were out of town. John told me you took a case for the Earl of Suffolk."

"Turned it down. He knew that. Again Mary, where is he?"

Her lower lip trembled and to his horror, she burst into tears again. Holmes went over and steered her toward a chair. "Mary, what has gotten into you?"

"We've only been married three months."

"95 days to be exact. However, I'm sure that anniversaries are not your concern."

She shook her head and looked up at him. "I'm quite certain John has left me for another woman."

Holmes sat down across from her. "That's not possible."

"Why?"

"He's quite besotted with you. He speaks of you with an annoying reverence that I find somewhat redundant."

She set her mouth. "I have evidence."

"So you're a detective now, my dear."

She bristled. "I am not an idiot. It might surprise you to know that few women are."

"Not at all. My apologies. I find women many things, exasperating being at the top of that list, but I know you are not an idiot."

"Well then, Mr. Great Detective, perhaps I should tell you my evidence and you can judge for yourself."

He settled back and crossed his legs. "I'm waiting."

She took a deep breath. "He's lying to me."

"Hmmm."

"I know he's lying because he's very bad at it."

Holmes nodded. "Good point. Watson is completely without guile."

"He won't look me in the eye."

"How long has that been?"

"A week, I think."

"About the time he told you that I was out of town?"

She frowned. "Approximately."

"He had quite a quarrel with me last week."

"I don't understand."

"Let's return to your evidence."

"He's gone lone hours. I haven't even seen him in two days."

"Compelling."

Then Mary looked down. "And then this morning I went to the bank to withdraw for our rent…"

"The account was empty."

Her chin trembled. "There was 500 pounds in there just last week."

"Has he had any visitors lately?"

"Patients certainly."

"Anyone else?"

Mary thought for a moment. "An old friend stopped by, a friend from the war."

Holmes sighed. "Large man with a ridiculous name."

"His name was Tiny, I believe. Very jovial fellow. Welcomed me as John's wife quite warmly."

Holmes guffawed. "Unlike another close friend of John's."

She blushed. "I like to think that's all behind us, Sherlock."

"Of course, My Dear."

"My husband isn't having an affair?"

"Well, in the sense that he's shifted his commitment to another, he is."

She got to her feet. "Holmes, enough of the games! What's going on?"

Holmes looked up at her. "Your dear husband is gambling with your savings in the hopes that he can repay a man for his life."

"John said Tiny saved his life."

"And what price is a life?"

"I'm still confused."

Holmes threw his scarf around his shoulder. "I would stay to clarify, but I fear that Watson is playing fast and loose with your savings about now. "

"Sherlock, please find him and bring him home."

* * *

The world of gambling, while diverse, is a relatively small world. Holmes knew that Watson preferred physical contests between men to horses or dog racing. As a doctor, he imagined himself to be a good judge of a man's physical potential. Unfortunately, strength is only part of the equation. The other part of a good fighter had to do with the heart of the man. To understand a man's heart, his courage and will, took more assessment than a gambling man typically had time to do. As a result, Watson was only marginally successful as a gambler, and had rather dreadful instincts when it came to walking away.

It took about three hours of prowling gambling dens, boxing rings, and bars to find him. It was a basement brewery in one of the seediest parts of London. Holmes wrinkled his nose at the rank smell of hops and human sweat. Watson sat in a corner, resting his head against the back wall, eyes closed. It was a surprising place to find the fastidious doctor, but what was even more surprising was how he fit in. His clothes were dusty and torn, and there were alarming purple, bloody bruises on his mouth, eye, and temple. He was indistinguishable from any other patron in the place.

Without opening his eyes, he swallowed. "How did I know you would find me?"

Holmes smiled. "Impressive. Was it my scent? The sound of my walk?"

Watson raised his head, the puffy eye barely opening. "You don't belong. All conversation stops in this place when a gentleman graces its doorstep."

Holmes signaled for a barmaid and asked for soap and water. Then he turned to Watson. "Where shall we start?"

Watson's mouth twitched. "Why don't you tell me what happened? You're so good at it. I want to see how amazing you are."

Holmes sat across from him. "I went to see Mary this morning. She's distraught."

Watson winced. "I had hoped that she was still in the dark."

"She knows the bank account is empty. You've been gone two days. She's come to the conclusion that you're having an affair."

"I sent a boy with a note just yesterday."

"It never got there."

Watson groaned. "Good lord! So she thinks I'm having an affair. Is that better or worse than the truth?"

"You fought with me last week so that I would sulk and stay out of your way."

"Okay my genius friend, tell me the rest now." Watson propped up an elbow and gently rested his bruised head on his hand.

Holmes sighed. "Tiny came to visit you last week. Another hard luck story. But this time he tells you that I threatened him the last time I saw him. Probably insinuated that he feared me."

"He said you were a brute. You told him he was never to bother me again. The nerve of it, Holmes."

"It was a year ago when we had our little confrontation, but I admit that I would do it again today." Holmes took the bucket of water, cloth, and bar of soap from the maid and lathered the cloth with soap. Then he handed it to Watson. "Come now, you look like the devil. What will Mary say?"

Watson dabbed at his bruises.

Holmes sat back and continued. "So, after he visited, you decided to come and insult me such that I would be too busy massaging my ego to pay attention to any odd behavior on your part. At that point, you and Tiny withdraw the whole of your account and came down here to win a fortune."

"He has six hungry children."

Holmes slammed the table with a fist. "Then he should provide for them."

Watson glared at him. "He has the bad arm; the arm that was ruined when he saved my life. It's not so easy to provide when you can barely lift your arm."

"Yes, yes. Poor Tiny. Let's forget about your productiveness with a bad leg. No matter. Apparently, it is incumbent upon you to give him all you own whenever he calls. Poppycock!"

"You've always disliked him. Jealous, perhaps?"

"Of course, Watson. How logical. I am jealous of a man who makes his living with his hand out. I should want to be a man who inspires only pity in the people around him."

"That's enough. You were never a soldier. You cannot understand the bond that happens between men in a war."

"I rather thought our bond was similar to that. We've certainly seen enough danger together."

Watson didn't meet his eyes.

Holmes sighed and pointed a finger at him. "You hiding in this dungeon of a place tells me that you've lost all of your money. The bruises on your face tell me that in your misery you put yourself in the boxing ring last night. Did you really imagine you could win or did you do it to mete out a self-imposed punishment?"

"Poor Mary had no idea what she was getting into. Why didn't you stop me from marrying her?" Watson reached for the beer, but the smell of it turned his nose.

Holmes grabbed the mug and put it on the next table. "That's enough. You have a responsibility to that good woman. As soon you scrub the dirt off your neck, I'm taking you home."

"She shouldn't see me like this."

"Then you'll stay at Baker Street for a day or two, and then we'll brave the marital home."

Watson started to rise when a booming voice sounded. "John! John!"

Both men turned to see Tiny McGinty striding toward them. "We've had the most blessed good luck!"

Then he spotted Holmes. "Ah, the great detective. I should've guessed."

Holmes looked away.

Tiny returned his attention to Watson. "We've won, My Friend. We've won!"

Watson winced at him. "Impossible. I kept track of all the bets."

"Yes, well, this was a little side bet."

"You had no money."

McGinty clapped his hands together. "There was the little matter of note you sent the missus containing 50 pounds. I had to liberate it from the boy. I had the most perfect bet in mind."

Watson's mouth dropped. "That was money for our expenses, Tiny."

"I am a wretch, but today I am a lucky wretch. I put it on a long shot for Thompson 20 to 1, and the he won. He was fighting a much larger bloke, but the gods were us, John. We won 1000 pounds."

Watson's sore face lit up. "Impossible!"

"It's true. Look at it for yourself." He dropped a pile of money on the table.

"Stupid." Holmes muttered.

Tiny flashed eyes at him. "Why, Mr. Holmes? It's not stupid to turn one loaf into many."

"You stole his money."

"And it's lucky I did." Tiny walked up to Holmes as large men do when they want to remind others of their size.

"Enough! Enough! All is saved!" Watson pushed Tiny away from Holmes.

Holmes got to his feet. "It was his money. Therefore, the winnings are his."

"Oh, Holmes, let it go. What Tiny did came form the best of intentions, and it has paid off. Don't you see!"

"Are you ready to go back to Baker Street?"

Watson looked at the money on the table. "I still have business to conduct with Tiny."

McGinty scowled at Holmes.

"What shall I say to Mary?"

Watson blinked. "Oh, God, I didn't think."

"Of course, John," Tiny boomed. "Let's take our winnings to your home. We'll take out your lovely wife and celebrate with her."

Watson shook his head. "Not with these bruises. She'll be quite alarmed. Perhaps, I should go with Holmes."

Tiny slapped him on the back. "I'll explain everything. I'll tell her you were in a brawl. I'll tell her it was my fault."

"Lying has not served me well thus far."

"But it serves me beautifully." The burly man had Watson by the shoulder. "Holmes, you'll have to surrender him to me today. 1000 pounds cannot be ignored."

With that, he steered Watson toward the steps. Holmes didn't protest. McGinty had a presence, a charisma almost, that enveloped Watson every single time. He picked up the dirty cloth Watson used on his face and dropped it into the bucket of water.

* * *

Chapter 2 by next Monday


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Hope you are still reading. I am used to more people reviewing. Hopefully the story is engaging for you. Thanks to those of you who have let me know what you think.

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 2

The knock at his door was definitely not Mrs. Hudson. He looked up with some surprise when Watson entered with a large tea set in his arms.

"Are you my landlady now?"

Watson blushed. "I caught Mrs. Hudson downstairs. Told her I would bring this up for her."

Holmes nodded and watched him as he placed it on the table and poured them both some tea. Watson looked into his cup for a moment. "I, uh, came to apologize for my behavior."

Holmes wrinkled his nose. "You and I don't stand on such formalities, do we? Must I apologize every time I'm difficult? I would end up doing little else."

Watson nodded. "You were trying to help though, and I was not appreciative of your efforts."

"Have you apologized to Mary?"

Watson sighed. "Most thoroughly, I believe."

"And how did it end with Tiny?"

"It's hard to explain, Holmes. I knew Tiny during a time of desperate circumstance. He was a boy then, really, and quite different than the man he is now. The army does that to some men. The discipline and regimen can turn shiftless men into upstanding soldiers."

"He no longer has that discipline."

"I know. Tiny has become quite a pitiful creature."

"Have you truly never known that, Watson? Is this truly an epiphany of some kind?"

Watson leaned forward, handing Holmes a dish of biscuits. "I was able to see him for the first time through Mary's eyes. His carelessness, his causal expectations of me and my money were alarming to her."

Holmes snorted. "Well, they were always alarming to me as well."

"But I am not responsible for you, Holmes. We were bachelors. My failure was only my own. Besides, you have a jealous streak and Mary does not. You never like my friends."

Holmes bit into a biscuit and looked away.

Watson took one for himself. "That day when you found me, we went back to my home, Tiny and I, and he wanted us to go out and celebrate. Mary was much too rattled for any emotion other than relief. But Tiny was insistent. So he went out and bought a very expensive brandy, and arranged for the Majestic to cater a meal in my home. I suppose I should have been grateful."

Holmes took another biscuit and watched his friend carefully.

"I saw the receipt for the brandy. It was almost 20 pounds. The meal was ostentatious. We sat through the evening, both of us getting increasingly drunk on the brandy. When the dinner started, I had 500 pounds to my name as I gave 500 to Tiny. By the end of the evening, I'd given him an additional 200 pounds."

Holmes shook his head.

"I was taken by the stories of poverty his family was facing." Watson looked down into his tea. "The next day, after Tiny left, the proprietor from the Majestic came around with a bill for 60 pounds. Tiny led me to believe that he'd paid for that."

"Yes, Watson, but he's unfortunate, and you're a man of endless resource. Of course, he'd have you pay for it. Besides, he saved your life. Can that ever really be re-paid?"

Watson blushed again. "Mary was apoplectic about the matter, and I couldn't blame her."

"So you've seen the light then. No more Tiny McGinty?"

"After next week, I shall never see him again. Truthfully."

Holmes frowned. "What do you mean about next week? What's next week?"

"I'm sure I've mentioned that I have a 15 year reunion of the regiment this coming weekend in Essex. Tiny will be there."

"Surely, you'll avoid him. Better yet, you won't go to the reunion at all."

"Before Tiny left, I made him a promise."

"Promises mean nothing to him."

"Holmes, surely you know me as a man of honor. I keep my word. It's a small favor. I'll honor it and be on the train back to London before the weekend is done."

Holmes put down his cup and saucer. "Then you're decided."

Watson nodded. "I need to talk to him, explain why we are no longer friends. I will honor that last commitment and that will be it."

"What have you promised him?"

"You'll be happy to know it's not money. It's, uh, he's having a bit of a disagreement with our regimental commander. He's merely asked me to help him resolve it."

"I have no doubt that your regimental commander is in the right."

Watson nodded. "Probably, probably. I just want to help with this one last thing."

Holmes sighed. "And what can I do to help?"

Watson bristled, "I haven't asked you for anything."

"Yet, you're here for more than just your apology. I can see it on your face. Are you looking for someone to approve of this last misadventure with Tiny McGinty?"

Watson stood up. "I don't need your approval. If I used you as my guide in all matters of decision, I would undoubtedly be on the floor right now, staring up at the ceiling and hoping that the drugs I'd foolishly taken wouldn't leave me blind! I can assure you that I am not here for your approval!"

Holmes raised a hand. "My apologies, Watson. Clearly, I misunderstood your intentions. Rash of me, really. Now sit down like a good fellow so that I can know that we are friends again."

Watson slowly sat down.

Holmes leaned forward. "Is there anything I can do to be helpful? I would like to be of assistance if I could. Perhaps, I should go with you this weekend."

"Thank you no, Holmes. I won't need anyone to 'watch' over me. I'll be fine. If you do want to be helpful though, you could do me the favor of going over to my house and dining with Mary once or twice. She'll be awfully lonely."

Holmes scowled. "I'll say something unfortunate and she'll be offended. I always do."

"Yes, I know, but you're not nearly the enigma you pretend to be. You're starting to grow fond of her. I can tell. And it would help me to know that my wife had some company while I was gone."

"She'll find me boorish."

"As do we all, Holmes. Now, it would really bring me some relief if I was assured that Mary had some company."

"She must make the Yorkshire puddings."

"I'll see that she does."

"And roast beef. I would really enjoy some succulent roast beef."

Watson smiled. "I shall go home and kill a steer straight away."

"Yes, I believe I can find some time for dinner with your lovely wife."

* * *

Holmes sat in the armchair and carefully lit his pipe. Within minutes, the lovely Mrs. Watson came into the parlor with her darning and sat across from him.

Holmes cleared his throat. "Wonderful dinner, Mary, even with the absence of your most delicate Yorkshire puddings."

"I served you Shepherd's Pie tonight."

"I am aware of what it was."

"Holmes, why would I serve you Yorkshire puddings with Shepherd's pie?"

He thought for a moment and frowned. "Why wouldn't you?"

She threw up her hands. "You serve Yorkshire puddings with roast beef. You do not serve them with Shepherd's pie."

"Is there a law?"

"No!"

"Yet you know how fond I am of those lovely puddings."

"And so I should serve them for every meal? How about breakfast? Should I serve them for breakfast?"

Holmes frowned. "Of course not. I am never here for breakfast."

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. "In other words, you are telling me that I should serve the Yorkshire puddings whenever you are in attendance."

He shrugged. "I am a guest, and as a hostess, I believe your duty is to please your guests."

"Of course! How silly of me to forget my duty."

He ignored her sarcasm. "And I have done research, and am aware that they are not expensive to make nor are they particularly labor intensive."

"Mrs. Hudson surely makes them."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Mrs. Hudson's puddings are more like bogs or swamps. Perhaps an analogy is in order. Hers are like wild Russian Cossacks raiding terrified peasants while yours are like delicate ballerinas dancing Swan Lake."

Mary choked on a laugh. "I had no idea, Holmes."

He raised his chin and nodded. "Yes, there it is for God and everyone to know. Those are my true feelings about your puddings."

She smiled. "Well, now that I am aware of this, I shall make sure you have your ballerinas every time you come."

Holmes scowled.

Mary chuckled and picked up her darning again. "Thanks for taking my mind off of John. He should have returned yesterday."

"He'll be home soon enough. Promised he would. Watson never breaks a promise."

Mary looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Never thought I would say this, but I much prefer you to Mr. Tiny McGinty."

Holmes puffed on his pipe. "Naturally."

The doorbell sounded and she stopped. "Surely, John has a key."

"He's lost it, no doubt. Go let the good fellow in, My Dear."

Holmes heard the door open, and then some muffled conversation. The tone of it made it clear that it wasn't Watson. He got up when a confused Mary led a gentleman into the parlor. She looked at Holmes. "He wants to ask me questions about John."

Holmes frowned at him. "And who are you, Sir?"

The man's face lit up. "So when Dr. Watson is away, the great Sherlock Holmes warms himself by his hearth."

There was something about the way the man said it that made it seem salacious. Holmes bristled. "You are inpertinent, Sir. Please state your business or leave here immediately."

The man found a chair and rudely seated himself. "My name is not important. I have a story to tell, and I've come to see Mrs. Watson about some details. Don't want to get it wrong, do I?"

"You're a newspaperman."

"Very astute, Mr. Holmes. It is really fortunate that you are here as I can get reactions from you as well."

"What story?"

The man ignored him and turned to Mary. "Your husband left last Friday for a reunion in Essex, correct?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand. Is this some sort of story about the reunion?"

"All right, Ladies and Gentlemen, your clueless act doesn't fool me for a moment. Undoubtedly, you've received a telegram by now. If you wish to not comment, you'll force me to make up the details. Now, that does none of us any good."

Holmes was there in an instant, grabbing the man by the shoulders and pulling him up. With the man's face close to his, he hissed. "The games are over. You'll tell us exactly what you know, and then I'll consider not throwing you out the front window face first."

The man struggled in his grasp, but he was no match for Holmes' superior strength. "Are you telling me you really don't know?"

Holmes pulled the man's arm behind his back and started pulling. The man howled and Mary shrieked. Holmes stopped and waited while the man caught his breath. "The next time I bend your arm, I won't stop until I hear it snap."

The man breathed hard. "We got the telegram a few hours ago. Sent off a couple more just to confirm. Seems your good friend, Watson, is in jail in the village of Essex."

Holmes pushed him back in the chair. "Impossible!"

The man looked up at him fearfully. "We thought it was odd ourselves. I mean, Dr. Watson helps you solve crimes plus he is a man of medicine."

"Why is he in jail?"

The man swallowed hard. "He's accused of murdering his regimental commander."

"Nonsense!"

"I would, uh, would agree but he seems to have confessed."

Mary covered her mouth and froze.

The man shrank before Holmes, worried about another pummeling. He started babbling all of his thoughts. "I wouldn't lie about this. That's why I came to call. I wanted Mrs. Watson's reaction. You see my editor thinks Dr. Watson snapped after so many years in your company. Rather, I mean so much exposure to violence. He must have seen it all the time. Perhaps, he lost sight of the civilized man he was. We thought perhaps, Mrs. Watson could comment on that theory. Could he be mad? Could he have lost his compassion? What happened to turn a respected doctor and crime fighter into a cold-blooded killer? Mr. Holmes, do you feel responsible for turning him into a savage? Will you support him or will you help the courts to hang him?"

Holmes stared at him as if possessed.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, I am merely the messenger. Please don't hurt me."

Holmes stepped away from the man and over to the front window. The man watched him, terrified. "Perhaps, your reputation is of concern to you. If you talk to me, I can assure that your side of the story will be told. I would make sure nothing happens to the public's perception of the great Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes shook his head but said nothing.

"Perhaps, you could tell me if the doctor had signs of his coming brutality. Perhaps, his attraction to this work was his love for blood and torture. Whatever you say, I will print it."

"Mary, if I step away from this window, I will surely kill him." He said it quietly but its effect was chilling.

Mary strode over to the man and grabbed his arm. "You have five seconds to disappear. If you don't, I'll help the great Sherlock Holmes bury you in the backyard."

Startled by her grasp, he leapt to his feet and ran from the room.

When they were alone again, Holmes turned to her and shook his head. "I never imagined. How could I not know? How could I not see that this was coming?"

* * *

Next Monday


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: I got this off a day early. It'll still be a week for another chapter. There will be a surprise guest in the next chapter. I am quite excited to write him. He wasn't in the movie, but if he was, he should be played by Oliver Platt although Stephen Fry would also be excellent. Anyways, reviews are like food, and I don't get inspired to write without some good food. So feed me when you can.

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 3

Holmes spotted her on a bench waiting to board the train. Her stubbornness had become irritating, and he was determined that this time she would truly listen to him. She looked up and sat up straight.

"I thought you understood me," he said sharply.

Mary Watson glared back at him. "He's my husband."

"And he'll never want you to see him in jail."

"He has before."

He stood over her, pointing, unwilling to diminish the threat it implied. "That was different, Mary. We'll not argue about this."

"John said you would watch after me."

"You'll go home and stay inside. I telegraph you daily."

The whistle blew, and Holmes looked up at the train. "Only one of us is getting on."

She blinked away tears and looked away.

Holmes turned to the sound of running and saw a group of men rushing toward them. One of them carried the heavy equipment of a photographer. He grabbed her arm. "Come on, Mary, the vultures have descended."

The newspapermen surrounded them. "Are you going to Essex, Mr. Holmes? And you are bringing Mrs. Watson? You've grown quite close to her. Have you any comment on your relationship with Dr. Watson's wife? Does Dr. Watson know he is being cuckolded?"

Mary pulled away from Holmes and shouted at them. "This is preposterous! Mr. Holmes and I are nothing more than friends. How rude! How boorish!"

Holmes grabbed her around the waist and carried her to the train. Behind them came the explosion of a camera bulb.

"Unhand me, Holmes!" Mary grabbed at his arms.

Holmes deposited her on the ladder and pushed her up the steps. "You won't be safe alone in London, Mary. It was folly of me to imagine otherwise."

He scrambled up the stairs after her as the wheels of the trains creaked into movement.

* * *

"I still think you should have let me talk to them."

Holmes shook his head. "Impossible. I have dealt with the press for years. They will only write what they want. Watson's situation will draw a lot of attention and sell a lot of newspapers. We must be done with this now, Mary. We discussed this for most of a 6-hour train ride. I'm weary of it."

He jumped off the wagon and extended a hand to her. They had been dropped on a large country estate converted into a hotel. The enormous building was surrounded by beautiful green gardens and walking paths. Behind them lay acres of beautiful green English countryside. On any other occasion it would be the perfect place for a nice respite.

He took her arm and walked her into the hotel. She looked up at him. "They'll not want us here."

Holmes looked straight ahead. "There is no other hotel for miles. It will have to do. Plus, this is where the crime happened. The clues are here."

The lobby was with ornate chairs grouped throughout, country gentlemen wandering about in their tweeds and elaborate mustaches. Holmes brought Mary to the desk. "Do you still have Dr. Watson's room?"

The manager looked up, surprised. "We've put no one in his room."

"I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Mrs. Watson. I would like the room with his things. Mrs. Watson would also like to procure a room."

He raised his eyebrows. "In this hotel?"

Holmes swallowed a sharp response. "Yes please."

"That's rather scandalous. Much of the regiment is still here, determined to stay until they see justice is done."

"I too am interested in seeing justice done. Will you rent the rooms or not?"

The manager frowned. Nearby, men overheard the conversation and came walking up. A gray haired man with an enormous mustache stepped forward. "Mr. Holmes. I must say! Coming here to this hotel is wholly inappropriate."

Holmes took a deep breath before facing the man. "I don't believe that this case has been solved. I am here to help."

The man bristled. "Watson confessed. There is nothing left to find."

"You don't have trouble imagining Watson as a murderer?"

"We can hardly account for the years he spent with you fighting crimes. Perhaps, he went mad. Perhaps, that is why he killed our commander."

Holmes slammed his palm on the oak desk. "Perhaps! Perhaps! Perhaps, he is the murderer! Why are you so satisfied with perhaps!? I am here to find the truth! I refuse to live in your world of perhaps!"

"Our commander was murdered by your friend, Dr. Watson! There is no puzzle!"

The argument drew a crowd. Soon Holmes and Mary were surrounded by at least twenty men. He put a hand on her arm protectively. "I shall not be bullied by your numbers! You have known John Watson longer than I, yet I appear to be the only one who believes in him. Maybe, he meant less than he thought to his comrades in arms."

A red-haired man pushed his way through the crowd. "John Watson saved my life in Afghanistan. He's one of the most honest, good men I have ever met. I have my doubts."

Holmes nodded gratefully. Another man stepped forward. "I got some doubts too. I heard the constables saying something about Tiny McGinty. I'm suspicious whenever I hear that name."

"Tiny wasn't here. Fat man's got a presence. If he was here, we'll all know about it."

Some men nodded and others shook their heads. Holmes looked at them. "I want to know what happened here. I am determined to find the truth."

The gray haired man got up close to his face. "And what if the truth is he's a cold-blooded murderer."

Holmes stayed impassive. "I'm not worried, Sir. Watson isn't capable of this. He's the best man I know."

For a moment, there was silence. Then the red-haired man spoke to the manager. "You'll let him stay here. There's no one in this room afraid of the truth. It costs us nothing for Holmes to find out more about what happened. We, all of us, have questions. I couldn't have been more surprised if someone told me the Queen herself was a murderer. I want answers."

There were murmurs among the crowd, but slowly, men nodded their heads and dispersed. Mary sighed deeply and gripped the edge of the desk for support.

Holmes narrowed his eyes at the manager. "We'll want two rooms. Please put me in Dr. Watson's room. I'll also need his trunk. Mrs. Watson is quite tired. She'll need to rest. Someone should bring up tea for her in a few hours."

* * *

Holmes' stomach growled but he ignored it. There seemed to be so little time, and despite his hunger pangs, he found little interest in food. He waited in a cold, stone room for the guard. The prison was old, probably built in the 16th century. Dungeon was the word that came to mind more than prison. Holmes imagined that it held memories of the brutal executions of the Tudors.

The guard opened a thick, wooden door. "The prisoner don't want to see you. Says you should go back to London. Says you're supposed to be watching after his missus."

Holmes sighed. "I must see him."

The guard shrugged.

"Has he a lawyer?"

"He hasn't asked for one."

"I'm here to make sure Dr. Watson has representation."

"He don't want to see you."

Holmes closed his eyes for a moment and then he pulled a five pound note from his pocket. "Why do we let prisoner dictate the terms on visitation?"

The guard snatched it eagerly. "Good question, Governor. I'll give you an hour but no more."

Holmes followed him through the dark, wet prison hallways. The guard stopped him near a cell that reminded him of the one where Lord Blackwood stayed before his botched execution. The guard brought a wooden stool up to the iron bars and left him there.

"I'm here, Watson."

From the darkness came a cracked voice. "You've abandoned Mary."

"I have not. She's here in Essex with me."

"Even worse, Holmes! Take her home!"

"I shall not."

"Our friendship means so little to you?"

Holmes sighed. "John, come out of the shadows and talk to me."

"I'm responsible for what happened, Holmes. There is nothing for you here."

Holmes grabbed the bars. "Stop it, Watson! Come out! I want to see you."

He heard the creaking of wooden slats. Watson came slowly up to the bars. The lapels on his jacket were pulled up, his face was pale, and his lips a soft shade of blue.

"You're freezing! This is intolerable!" Holmes took off his coat and fed it through the bars. Watson took it without a word and wrapped it around his body tightly.

"Talk to me, Watson. I have to know everything."

Watson shook his head. "There is no puzzle here, Holmes."

"You didn't shoot him. I know this. You said you were responsible. If you'd killed him, you would have said so."

"Is there really any difference?"

"Yes, Watson, yes!"

"Tiny made me a fool."

"Tiny shot him."

Watson chuckled drily. "With my pistol while I stood there like a stupid child. Then he handed me the gun, and said he was going for help. That was the last I saw him. Half an hour later, police were at the door."

"Tiny said that he checked into the hotel?"

"Yes, after I told my story, the police looked for Tiny. They found no trace of him. He never checked in. It is only my word that he was ever here."

"He's the murderer, Watson."

"I gave him my gun. I stood there while he shot my regimental commander in the chest. Just stood there like an idiot. I never imagined."

"He took you by surprise."

"Holmes, you know me better than anyone. Why have you stood by such a fool for so long?"

Holmes shook his head. "We'll waste no time on nonsense. You're a loyal friend, perhaps, too loyal sometimes, but you're not a fool."

"Holmes, there is no way you'll get me out of this. Even if you find him, Tiny will never confess to doing this."

"Why did you give him the gun?"

"The commander never liked Tiny. Tiny asked me to come with him to convince the commander to write a recommendation for his son. Tiny convinced me that he wanted a better future for his son. He wanted to get the boy into the commander's alma mater, the Lexington Military academy. He thought that wearing the pistol would give him an air of respectability. I didn't think it would help, but of course, I allowed it."

"He didn't want a letter from the commander."

Watson blinked and shook his head. "The commander immediately began yelling at Tiny. Then Tiny pulled out my weapon and shot him."

"What was he yelling at Tiny?"

Watson closed his eyes. "It was confusing. He was yelling that Tiny shouldn't be there. He said something about an agreement and…I don't seem to remember the rest."

Holmes reached through the bars and grabbed Watson's cold hand. "This is not over, John. Look at me!"

Watson looked at him with weary, red-rimmed eyes.

"We're going to beat this. I'm putting everything I am into this."

Watson shook his head. "Please, Holmes. This will destroy your reputation. Should we both go down in flames?"

Holmes squeezed his hand roughly. "What is a reputation to me without you?"

"I want so much to protect you and Mary from this."

"If this was me, would you be able to let go? Would you walk away?"

Watson shook his head slightly.

"Watson, you can't give up. Don't talk with the police again without a lawyer. Do you understand me?"

He nodded.

"Tomorrow, I'll come and I'll bring more clothing to keep you warm. Are you eating?"

"I can barely digest."

"I'll make sure they feed you well."

Watson winced. "Is Mary okay?"

"She's very strong."

"Please protect her. If I mean anything to you, you will do that before all else."

Holmes sighed. "I am doing everything I know to do."

Watson grew a wan smile. "And that's more than I rightly deserve."

Holmes withdrew his hand slowly. "I'm off, Watson. Please rest like a good fellow. Eat what you can. Try to remember more. Anything you can tell me will help."

Watson swallowed and nodded. Then he turned and drifted back into the darkness.

* * *

He knocked sharply several times before forcing the door. Her room was empty. Holmes cursed and ran for the stairs. He was heading for the manager's desk when he heard a familiar voice. "Holmes!"

He turned to see Mary emerging from the dining room with the red-haired man who'd defended Watson earlier. "You should have stayed in your room!"

His tone was startling to both of them. Mary stopped short. "I apologize. The major invited me to dinner. I needed to get out."

"It makes everything harder when I constantly have to corral you!"

Mary shook her head and reached for his arm. "Stop fussing at me, Holmes. How is my husband?"

Holmes sighed. "He is doing as well as can be expected."

"That tells me nothing."

"Well, there is nothing really—"

"Holmes! I am not a porcelain doll! Tell me about me about my husband before I start screaming!"

Holmes froze.

She stamped her foot. "You men think we are delicate children! It's infuriating!"

"I, uh, I had no intention…"

She closed her eyes and set her mouth and he was sure she was preparing to make a scene.

"Mary, I apologize. I shouldn't treat you like a child." To his tremendous relief, her chest settled. "In fact, there is much you can do. Watson will need a lawyer. I know funds are an issue. But get the best you can find and we'll worry about the expenses later."

She nodded.

Holmes continued. "I've looked through his trunk. There was nothing compelling as far as clues, but I need you to pick out his best woolens. He'll need them. Perhaps, you can find a warm blanket or two. The prison is quite cold. I've bribed the guards regarding meals. They shall be delivered from outside the prison."

Her eyes filled with tears. "He's despondent, isn't he?"

Holmes took a deep breath. "He is quite…depressed. Very embarrassed that he allowed Tiny to manipulate him like this."

"He'll not see me?"

He shook his head. "It's best this way, Mary. I beg of you to understand that."

She nodded, tears falling freely from her eyes, her fingers closely on his arm tightly. "I shall do as you say, Sherlock. I'll gather his stuff. The lawyer is taken care of already. I engaged the best person possible in Great Britain."

He frowned at her and was about to ask for elaboration when the Major jumped in. "Please let me know how I can be of assistance. I will do anything within my power."

Holmes bowed. "I appreciate that you have been so kind to look after Mrs. Watson, Major Hillman."

The man's eyebrows rose. "You know my name?"

"Watson spoke of you. I'm afraid your red hair is a distinct marker."

"Can I do anything for you this evening? I am at your service."

Holmes nodded. "I would be so grateful if you could escort Mrs. Watson to her room. I'm afraid I must eat and do some thinking."

Hillman took Mary by the arm and escorted her up the grand staircase. Holmes found a tall armchair and collapsed into its depths. He needed food as his energy was drained, but the thought of hustling something up in the closed dining room seemed daunting. Instead he closed his eyes for a moment.

* * *

"Mr. Holmes!"

Holmes startled awake, still slumped in an armchair in the lobby. The lights were dim, but he could immediately make out two men dressed in simple clothing.

"Are you all right? You look awfully pale, doesn't he, Inspector?"

"Clarky, don't call me Inspector. We agreed."

Holmes sat up, blinking. "Lestrade! Clark! What are you doing here?"

Lestrade cleared his throat and looked away, and so Clark stepped in. "Well, Sir, you see the Inspect--, I mean Mr. Lestrade here has been working quite hard, and he needed a week off, and being that there is the new baby in the house, that was no place for him to get a decent rest so I thought I'd bring uh, Mr. Lestrade up here for a spot of fishing. Heard there was some lovely trout jumping in these ponds."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Clark.

"Scotland Yard refused to send you officially then."

Lestrade nodded. "It's very political, Holmes. The papers are filled with stories of you and Dr. Watson. Scotland Yard didn't want to show favoritism. Plus, the local constabulary didn't request assistance."

"Insp--, Mr. Lestrade requested a couple of weeks off. As far as anyone knows, we've gone fishing."

Holmes blinked. "I don't know what to say."

Lestrade sat in a chair across from him. "Say that you could use our assistance. Two weeks of fishing with Clarky here will drive me over the edge. No offence to you Clark."

"None taken, Sir."

"Oh Clark! Just call me Lestrade. Nothing more, nothing less." He turned to Holmes. "You look like death. When did you last eat?"

Holmes shrugged.

Lestrade nodded at Clarky. "Go wake up someone in the kitchen. We'll need the works: eggs, bacon, tomato, black puddings."

Clark took off in the direction of the dining room.

Lestrade leaned forward. "It's a tough one, isn't it?"

Holmes shook his head. "Very complicated."

Lestrade nodded. "I don't suppose you'll want to know what the papers are saying."

Holmes closed his eyes. "It's the worst distraction, but tell me anyway."

Lestrade pulled a newspaper out of his coat and handed it to Holmes. On the cover was a photo of Holmes, Mary Watson in his arms, as they reached the train. The headline read: Holmes flees London with Mrs. Watson while Doctor Rots in Jail.

Holmes threw the paper to the ground. "Bollocks!"

* * *

Next chapter Sunday or Monday


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I heard from only a few people this week, and hope that people are still reading this story. Please let me know if you are. I have made the bromance a little more complicated as well.

Our special guest star for this story is introduced in this chapter. He is Mycroft Holmes. I will provide a short description of him from Wikipedia:

"He is the elder brother (by seven years) of the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.

While Conan Doyle's stories leave unclear what Mycroft Holmes' exact position is in the British government, Sherlock Holmes says that "Occasionally he _is_ the British government [...] the most indispensable man in the country." He apparently serves as a sort of human computer: The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience.

Mycroft has appeared or been mentioned in four stories by Doyle: "The Greek Interpreter", "The Final Problem", "The Empty House" and "The Bruce-Partington Plans". While he does occasionally exert himself in these stories on the behalf of his brother, he on the whole remains a sedentary problem-solver, providing solutions based on seemingly no evidence and trusting Sherlock to handle any of the practical details. In fact, Mycroft's own lack of practicality is a severe handicap despite his deductive talents: in "The Greek Interpreter", his blundering approach to the case nearly costs the client his life."

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 4

"I'm afraid that you're an imposter," the guard declared, jutting out his chin.

"Preposterous! I am Sherlock Holmes! Where is the guard from yesterday?"

"Don't matter. I know you're not Sherlock Holmes for the very fact that he's already in there talking to the prisoner."

"That's your imposter!" Holmes put down the package of clothes Mary had so carefully prepared. "I demand to see the warden! Immediately!"

The guard he had dealt with yesterday sauntered into the room. "Mr. Holmes!"

Holmes pointed at him. "Do you see? He recognizes me."

The first guard looked at the second. "Are you certain? I just escorted Mr. Holmes to the prisoner's cell."

Holmes reached into his pocket, producing a 5 pound note. "Perhaps, this will get me a look at my doppelganger."

The first guard frowned. "The other Sherlock Holmes gave me a ten note."

Holmes sighed and pulled out another note. "Now, may I get a look at my twin?"

The guard snatched at it and then the two of them led Holmes into the stone corridors. He stopped short when he spied the imposter. The man looked nothing like him. He was taller and more portly. He face resembled what one would find on an old hound dog. "Mycroft!"

The imposter turned his head. "Sherlock! You're just in time."

The guards frowned. "Which one of you is the imposter?"

Mycroft rose from the footstool in front of Watson's cell. "Neither of us. We're both Mr. Holmes. I just happen to be the great Sherlock Holmes' older brother."

"But you never said—" The first guard sputtered.

Mycroft raised a hand, finishing the man's sentence. "And you never asked."

"Well, one of you has to leave," the guard insisted.

"I agree," Holmes added, frowning deeply at his older brother.

"Nonsense! Sherlock, you are in charge of the investigation and I am in charge of Watson's defense."

Sherlock turned sharply to Watson. "Mary told me yesterday that she hired the best."

Watson sighed. "I told Mary once that if you and I are ever in a pickle and in need of assistance, she should wire your brother, Mycroft. I guess she thought this situation applied."

Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "Did you hear? Clearly, this is a mistake. She misunderstood what you could offer."

"I will have you know, Younger Brother, that I have thoroughly read law."

"Yes, well, you have thoroughly read everything, Mycroft. That's doesn't make you the best man for Watson."

Watson gripped the bars and peered out. "You told me once that Mycroft is 7x smarter than you."

"Yes, but I also told you that he is completely and utterly irresponsible. He's here today, but tomorrow he'll be bored with this venture and he'll drift off to study something new."

Mycroft dug his hands deeply into his pockets and leaned against the stone wall. "You think you know me so well, Sherlock."

"Exactly! So while your efforts are appreciated, it's best that we engage a real barrister."

"These aren't efforts, Brother. I will do everything in my power to ensure Watson's release."

"Yes, you say that today, but—"

"And I'll say it tomorrow and the next day and the day after that."

Holmes approached his older brother. "Why?"

Mycroft considered his question. "I am here because I am perhaps the only person who really knows how much…this means to you."

Holmes stepped back, speechless.

Watson frowned. "Holmes, what does he mean?"

"It's uh, my…reputation. He's referring to my bloody reputation."

Watson shook his head. "Mycroft, Holmes' ego is not what you think."

Mycroft bowed his head. "Of course. It's not just Sherlock's fight. I myself have dined with you on a number of occasions and consider you a friend. I am unable to sit by and not assist. And I will certainly not lose interest either."

"Holmes, I believe he is committed."

Mycroft cocked his head at his brother. "You yourself said that I am the most brilliant man in all of England."

Holmes sighed. "You believe you can do this?"

Mycroft grew a crooked smile. "Yes, Brother, I think I can make a difference."

* * *

Mycroft frowned, looking over the lush countryside. "There is no carriage."

Sherlock picked up his valise and coat. "We shall have to walk. I'll carry your things."

"For miles?"

"3.2 to be exact. Now, follow along, Mycroft, we haven't all day."

Mycroft lumbered after him. "It wasn't much of a greeting you offered me today, Brother."

"You have no discretion."

Mycroft settled into a long-legged stride. "I said nothing."

Holmes turned and scowled at him. "You almost said everything."

"If I just had a chance to explain to him my theory of the biology of sexual attraction, I believe—"

Holmes dropped the valise in the dirt and turned on his brother. "Never! You will never say anything to him ever!"

Mycroft stood stock still while Sherlock raged. Then Holmes calmed and reached for the valise again.

"Sherlock, I just want to help."

He dropped the valise again and shook his head. "Your theories will frighten him. In fact, they frighten me."

My good friend, Sigmund Freud says that—"

Sherlock glared. "No more Freud. I have read his work. He spins scandalous fairy tales about boys and their mothers."

"Oscar Wilde is also a friend, and he believes it to be quite biological."

"I will not be compared to that deviant!"

"Sherlock, I merely want to help you find some peace."

Holmes snorted. "By creating lies that I am in love with my best friend. You have most definitely not brought peace to my life."

"I remember the first time the three of us dined together. The way you looked at him. You were as giddy as a schoolgirl. No one ever made you happy like that before."

His face reddened. "I was not giddy!"

"You were happy…content. I hadn't seen you like that since you were a boy."

"He is my friend, Mycroft. His company suits me."

"Father taught us to be contemptuous of women. Frightening governesses away was sport for us, and we were never punished for it. Our mother was absent or ill most of our childhood. It would be quite natural for us to seek our needs with our own trusted sex."

"Then turn these ideas on yourself, Mycroft. You've never married."

The large man sighed. "I rather think I am allergic to both sexes. I have no such desires."

Holmes shook his head. "Neither of us has the temperament for a coupling of any kind."

"But John Watson makes you happy. When I see you with him, I believe it possible."

Holmes looked away. "I can't cross mountains of logic like you can. However you have come to a place where you are able to justify these ideas is a mystery to me. I am neither able or willing to follow you there."

"Self-loathing is no way to live."

"Actually, Big Brother, it may be the only way for me to live." Holmes picked up the bag and strode away. Mycroft stared after him.

After fifty yards, Sherlock turned to him. "We are here to save his life, Mycroft. That's all that matters to me now. Can you understand that?"

Clouds were beginning to block the bright sun. Mycroft nodded.

"Then hurry along. It'll be raining soon. We have much work to do."

"No one said that there would be all this walking."

A bolt of lightning flashed followed by the low growl of thunder. Holmes grinned in spite of himself. "I suggest you stop crawling and start trotting, Big Brother."

* * *

Mary Watson and Lestrade were waiting for them inside the lobby. The rain had come in a flash and left as quickly. The emerging sun had already done much to dry them. Lestrade grabbed the valise and left to secure a room for another Holmes. Sherlock steered Mary and Mycroft to a set of chairs that offered some seclusion. Holmes waited impatiently for Lestrade to join them. When he returned, Holmes nodded at him pertly, "Clark?"

"He's scouring the countryside. I've been to Essex and spoken to the Sheriff. Constables most definitely did not pass a large man or any man on their way to the hotel after the murder."

"Tiny could have stayed to the hills."

Lestrade snorted, "In the dark? Hardly. There was no moon the night of the murder. He'd have killed himself falling into a gully. If he sought a way to the village, he did it by road. If he'd gone to the East, he would have ended in the North Sea. Clarky is exploring possibilities to the North."

Holmes shook his head. "It'll take him weeks to cover that ground."

"He hired some blokes from the village. He should be back in two days."

"Lestrade, we have little funds. This is not Scotland Yard. We haven't endless resources."

Lestrade looked at Mary briefly and she sighed. "I have secured some funds, Sherlock."

He looked at her and noted the absence of her wedding ring. "Mary! What will your husband say? You have no idea of the worth of that stone!"

She bit her lip until he finished. "I do have some understanding of the worth of the diamond you liberated from Mrs. Adler. I've had it appraised three times."

"You threw it away for what amount?" His tone was scathing.

She blinked back tears. "I got $10,000 for it. It's a good price, and we'll need considerable funds."

"Have you no feeling for his pride? He'll be devastated."

Mary hung her head. Lestrade rose awkwardly. "If you'll excuse me, I shall find us seating for dinner."

He walked away quickly. Mycroft sighed deeply. "You remember how father raised us?"

Holmes looked at him sharply, but Mycroft merely leaned forward and took Mary's hand. He kissed it lightly. "I am honored to be of service to you, My Dear. Don't suffer my brother too deeply. He is desperately worried right now. Now if you'll excuse me, I must freshen up before dinner."

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. For a few minutes, the two of them sat in silence. Then Holmes sighed, "I'm a beast to you."

"That you are," she replied softly.

"I don't fully understand it."

"You never liked me."

He shook his head. "If it were only that simple. In fact, I am growing quite fond of you."

She looked at him curiously.

"You were right to pawn the ring and you received a good price."

"Thank you."

"I believe you understand what I am feeling more than anyone else. You once told me that you knew that I cared for him as much as you."

"I do understand."

"It will be dreadfully hard to extricate him from this. Juries convict with half this evidence."

She took his hand in hers and held it tightly.

"I am remarkable, but I am not sure that I am that remarkable, Mary."

She closed her eyes. "You have to be, Sherlock, you have to be."

* * *

John Watson got up slowly from his iron bed. The wet cold continued to reach his bones despite the woolens he'd been given. He'd put much energy into finding warmth, but the efforts left him curled up in a ball, and frankly, that was no way for a man to face life.

Wrapping a woolen blanket around his shoulders, he lurched the small confines of his call, determined to stay active. More than anything, he wanted to write. This activity had brought him such comfort and pleasure over the years. He'd sit by the fire and write in his journal while Holmes sat across from him, puffing on a pipe in his smoking jacket. He relived their adventures together through his pen and felt deeply satisfied. The memory of those days caught him in the gut, and he moaned his regret. The fire in the hearth greeted him whenever he fell asleep. Sometimes he was sitting across from Holmes and sometimes, he was sitting across from Mary. Oddly, both scenarios left him similarly wistful.

There was no desk in this dungeon. There was no paper or pens. It was always too dark in the cell to see the hands in front of his face even when the sun was in the sky. He had begun murmuring his words out loud as he paced; hopeful that they would imprint themselves in the air. The guards were sure to peg him as crazy, but that mattered little to him.

He licked his blue lips and chose his words carefully, "Holmes, I write these words to you. You have long been my companion and my friend. Even though it has not been so many years, it feels as if we've acquainted for a lifetime. I love you as dearly as I would a brother. I love you as dearly as I…love Mary. This case is like backing a bad horse. There is no way to win. The fear of being executed is little compared to the grief I know you'll feel in losing me. I wish I knew what words could help you. It's all I have left to give, Old Friend, and you deserve the very best from me. I know you'll care for Mary. You'll complain, you'll be sullen, but you'll know it's the only way to truly honor my memory…"

At times, he couldn't find the words or he became redundant, but it didn't matter as long as he said everything from the heart.

* * *

Next weekend for Chapter 5


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Thanks to all of us that took the time to let me know what you thought. It has meant so much. There are so many of you that support this story loyalIy and I am grateful. I want to thank fmapreshwab for encouraging when I was feeling particularly stuck. This chapter is for you.

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 5

Clarky returned to the hotel the next morning just in time for breakfast. He scooped up a plate of sausages, eggs, beans, and biscuits before settling at the table with the brothers Holmes, Lestrade, and Mary Watson. He shoveled in a couple of spoonfuls before Holmes' impatience got the best of him.

"Perhaps, you'd like to have a nice bath and a shave as well before reporting to us."

Clark flushed. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes. I been on my feet the last thirty hours, and haven't had a thing to eat other than a few wild strawberries."

Lestrade sighed. "We're all of us a bit anxious this morning, Clark. Magistrate scheduled the trial to start tomorrow. Seems the travelling judge is in the area and sees no reason to wait."

Clark's mouth dropped. "I hope you've found some clues, Sirs."

"You found no sign of him then." Holmes said drily.

"I sent fellows off in four different directions. They all came back with nothing. Nobody saw a big man out on the moor. It's hilly out there, but there aren't many trees. There's really very few places for a bloke his size to hide. I don't think he took off for the hills."

"Interesting." Holmes began rubbing his chin.

"If we don't find that big lug, Watson's not got much of a chance." Lestrade caught Mary's eye and nodded. "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Watson."

A shadow settled on the table, and they looked up to see Major Hillman. "Sorry to disturb you. I was hoping you'd have some good news about Watson."

"I'm afraid not, Major. I thank you for your continued interest."

He nodded. "I'll do anything I can for my old friend, Watson. Mary, you were all cooped up in the hotel yesterday. Perhaps, you'd take a stroll with me in the gardens."

"Impossible!" Holmes snapped. Everyone froze.

"I wasn't suggesting anything bold, Holmes. I know she is a married woman. I have the utmost respect for that."

Holmes shook his head. "I don't question your motives, Major. It's just that Mary will be coming to the prison with me today."

Mary's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes," he answered testily. "It's time you saw your husband."

Mycroft sat back and considered his brother carefully.

Holmes returned to Hillman. "My colleagues will be out of the hotel today. If I could beg your indulgence, we may possibly have telegrams coming in today and we need someone to pick them up for us."

"Of course, Holmes. May I ask the nature of these missives?"

"We are searching for the elusive Tiny McGinty, of course."

Clarky looked up with a mouthful of eggs and frowned. "I thought that we already determined-Ouch!"

Lestrade looked heavenward as his constable rubbed his knee.

"We have sent inquiries to his village and other known villages in the vicinity," Holmes continued smoothly.

Hillman smiled. "I would be most happy to be of service."

When he left, Lestrade leaned forward. "We have other confederates searching villages?"

Holmes pushed his plate away. "It is vital that we stay circumspect. We reveal our plans to no one. Do all of you understand that?"

Mary set her mouth in a line. "Is that why you concocted a story about seeing my husband in prison? You were afraid that I would reveal secrets if left here alone."

"Not exactly, my Dear. I have been coming to certain conclusions and I just think it's better if you stay close by."

"Will I see John today?"

"It cannot be avoided."

Mary stood up, flushed. "I must get prepared. I'll be ready in 30 minutes."

After she left, Lestrade stood up. "I imagine you would like positive proof that Tiny did not make it to the village."

"If you would be so kind."

Clark got up and wiped his greasy chin. "We're off then."

Lestrade sighed. "Not you, Constable. You need some sleep. I'll wake you this afternoon."

Nevertheless, the young constable stumbled after the inspector.

Mycroft looked at his brother. "What are you up to?"

"Surely you know."

"My mind may beats yours only in certain areas. I have some ideas, but you appear to be three steps ahead of all of us."

"I think Clark uncovered valuable information for us today."

"He found no clue of McGinty."

"Exactly."

Mycroft thought on it for a moment and sat back. "It truly is best that we keep Mary with us."

"Exactly."

"Watson won't want to see her."

"Of course, but we've done little to consider what she needs."

"His circumstances will overwhelm her."

"Unlikely, Mycroft. She is made of very stern stuff indeed."

"Hmmm, it appears my little brother has grown some appreciation for a woman."

Holmes wrinkled his nose. "Do you really find it appropriate to refer to me as "little brother", especially at our ages?"

* * *

Holmes leaned against the cold, stone wall. All he could hear down the hallway were the murmurs between Mary Watson and her husband. He had no desire to make out the exact words. It was enough to see the look of betrayal on Watson's face when he presented him with Mary. It seemed all too soon that the murmurs ceased and Mary came back down the hall toward him. To her credit, there wasn't a tear on her cheeks. Holmes felt a flush of pride and had to restrain himself from patting her on the back.

She swallowed deeply when she reached him. "Take your time. I'll need some moments to myself."

Holmes nodded lightly and unexpectedly found her hand and squeezed it.

When he reached his friend's cell, he expected quite a dressing down, but was surprised to see a calm Watson. He smiled. "You were right to bring her."

"I was?"

"We can't protect her from everything. It was good to see her."

Holmes smiled. "Good to hear it, Old Chum."

"Have you found Tiny?"

He shook his head. "But I can tell you that there have been promising developments."

Watson gripped the bars. "My trial starts in the morning, Holmes. I could be swinging at the end of a rope within the next few days. Don't give me hope if there is none. I should prepare for my final days."

Holmes walked up to the bars. "Look into my eyes. I won't allow for your execution. Do you understand? You have to trust me, John."

Watson smiled out of one side of his mouth. "You've almost convinced me that you can make it happen."

Holmes stared at him with deep brown eyes. There was so much to say, but he had no understanding of how to share one's soul. Holmes finally broke his stare and reached into his jacket, pulling out a leather-bound journal, pens, and an inkwell. "I know you must be desperate to do some writing."

Watson blinked. "They'll allow this?"

"It's all arranged."

Watson took it with shaky hands.

"There's a desk, chair, and lantern coming. Within the hour, you shall have what you need to put your thoughts to paper."

Watson reached through the bars and gripped his shoulder. "No one knows me as you do."

Holmes looked down. "I must go. There is much to do."

"You're human, Sherlock. You can only do what's possible. I can't expect more than that."

Holmes busied himself buttoning up his jacket. "Chin up, Watson, and all that." Then he hurried away down the dark hallway.

* * *

Mycroft paced in the gardens in front of the hotel, arguing heartily, arms gesticulating, with no one. When they returned to the hotel, Sherlock stopped to watch his brother for a moment. The older Holmes was so deep in concentration that he took no notice of his audience. In his hand, he held a sheaf of papers. Every few minutes he stopped his monologue and sat to write his thoughts. Sherlock didn't approach. Mycroft needed to be ready in the morning and needed no distractions.

At the top of the steps to the hotel, Major Hillman stood waiting for him and waving papers at him. "I have collected telegrams just as you asked."

Holmes nodded at him. "Anything of any consequence?"

The red-haired man was flushed. "Someone has spotted McGinty in Huddleston village. You must go immediately."

Holmes frowned and snatched at the telegrams. "Could he have gotten that far?"

"McGinty is a cheat but he is a man of resources. Mrs. Watson mentioned that he had some of John's money. It isn't hard to rent a surrey in this country."

Holmes nodded and walked into the lobby. He spied Lestrade waiting for him. "Major Hillman has convinced me that McGinty might be in Huddleston."

"He showed me the same," Lestrade responded.

Holmes sat down. "We must go after him."

"Agreed."

Hillman joined them. "I shall stay and watch over Mrs. Watson during the trial."

Holmes studied him. "That would be most admirable of you, Major."

"Of course. I'll do anything for my old friend."

"Then it's decided. Lestrade, you must find Clark. We'll leave within the hour."

Lestrade nodded and ran for the stairs. Holmes bowed at Hillman and followed.

* * *

Mary opened her door. "What's happening, Sherlock? Do we know something?"

"There is a sighting of McGinty in a village two days north of here. I must leave you."

"Will there be enough time? Can you make it back in time?"

He took her hands in his. "I can't tell you everything, but trust me when I say that these events give me great hope."

"What will I do?"

"Hillman intends to look after you."

She frowned. "You seemed not to approve of him earlier."

"You must promise me that you'll only allow him to escort you to meals and to court. You must refuse any other invitation, no matter what he says."

"I don't understand." 

"Nor can I explain everything. You are a woman of strength and character. There is still possible danger afoot in this hotel and I will not be here to watch over you. Mycroft will be here, but he's never been responsible for anything other than his own intellect. You must, in many ways, be your own protector while I am gone."

Mary nodded. Impulsively, Holmes leaned in and kissed her brow. Then he let go of her hands and left standing alone in her doorway.

* * *

Chapter 6 Sunday or Monday


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: There is only one more chapter after this. I so appreciate those of you who offer feedback. It means a lot to me. Like all writers I work very hard on these chapters.

I know diddlysquat about the legal system in 19th century rural England. Please bear with me.

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 6

Mycroft wore his best waistcoat with a gold pocket watch and a long black suitcoat. His shirt was white and ruffled, and on his head sat an enormous powdered wig. On the whole, the large man had a particularly impressive air about him and all eyes in the courtroom followed his every move. He paced before the constable sitting in the witness chair as if pondering an enormous problem. Finally, he stopped and fixed his eyes on the man. "Constable, please set the scene for us if you can. You rush in to the room and you find the crazed murderer, Watson, standing over his commander, smoking pistol in hand."

"Ah, well, it wasn't quite like that, Sir."

Mycroft frowned at him. "What part have I wrong?"

"Ah, Dr. Watson was on the floor next to the commander and the gun was on the table."

"But he was crazed, no?"

"Ah, no. Dr. Watson was very despondent. He was quite distressed over what had happened to the commander."

"But he confessed! He said that he'd shot the commander in a fit of rage."

The constable scratched his head. "I don't know who you've been talking to, Mr. Holmes, but that ain't at all what happened. He didn't say nothing about a fit of rage. He said it was his fault, but he didn't say that he shot him. Rather, he claimed that a fellow named McGinty had done the deed and left the room."

"But there was no McGinty."

"No, sir. We looked for hours for him but found nothing."

"He disappeared into thin air then."

"I ain't saying that, Mr. Holmes. I'm just saying that we didn't find nobody."

"Clearly, Watson lied to you."

"Well, it's true we didn't find anyone but I suppose this McGinty could've hid."

"But a platoon of constables looked for hours?"

"Well, truth be told, there were three of us looking, and we maybe devoted an hour to the task."

"Yes, Constable, tell us the truth. Can you say with certainty that McGinty was not in that room at the time of the murder?"

The constable looked down at his hands. "The truth is that I can't say for certain what happened in that room or whether there was a Mr. McGinty there at the time of the murder or not."

A hushed roar rose up around them. Mycroft turned to the jury, his arms spread, and let the information sink in. Mary reached forward and gripped her husband's shoulder.

* * *

Lestrade dropped into the grove next to Holmes. "It's been 15 hours. Do you still think he is going to leave the hotel?"

Holmes didn't acknowledge him for a moment while he stared at the hotel in the distance. "He would have left by now."

"So, you were wrong. He wasn't hiding in the hotel."

Holmes licked his lips. "I wasn't wrong. He was hiding in the hotel and now he isn't."

"He slipped by us? Impossible! Clarky's boys would have spotted him."

"He wasn't trying to escape. He was being led away by the true villain in this story. It must have happened a couple of nights ago."

Lestrade sighed. "Tiny McGinty isn't the true villain?"

"McGinty was a fool and a criminal. He was paid to kill the commander. Only McGinty didn't have to pay the price for the crime because he had the most trusting, loyal Watson by his side; a person who would never have suspect McGinty had such malevolence in his heart. There is someone more devious behind this besides Tiny McGinty."

"How can you know all of this, Holmes?"

"Nothing else makes sense!" Holmes replied sharply.

"Shall I instruct Clarky and his boys to keep watching? They are quite hungry and sleep-deprived."

"We can't go to the hotel. They think we've gone to Huddleston."

"There isn't enough money to keep these boys out here without food or sleep."

"There is a farmhouse about a mile from here. Pay them to see to your needs."

Lestrade put a hand on his shoulder. "Holmes, you haven't eaten or slept in a very long time. You can't continue at this pace."

Holmes shrugged him off angrily. "Watson has only hours! Do you understand that? Hours! We'll be lucky if Mycroft is able to put on a defense for more than a day. Then they'll convict. He'll be executed the day after! Time, Lestrade! We don't have time!"

Lestrade sat back. "You say McGinty was led away by someone, but he didn't escape."

Holmes closed his eyes. "You're right, Lestrade. We're wasting time." He reached for a map of the area. "We need to look for spots within a mile of the hotel, spots where a body might be hidden. We must change our efforts from surveillance to search."

* * *

"I would like prison guard, Smith, to come to the stand."

The portly prosecutor stood. "Your honor, Mr. Smith was not in the area at the time of the crime. What could he possibly add to these proceedings?"

Mycroft furrowed his brows. "Well, you won't find out until you sit down and stop complaining."

The judge pounded his gavel. "Mr. Holmes, is this relevant?"

"I believe it is very relevant."

The judge gestured at Smith. "Please take the witness box."

Watson shook his head harshly, but Mycroft ignored him. "So, Dr. Watson is one of the prisoners in your charge."

Smith cleared his throat. "Right now, he's the only prisoner in my section."

"Do you fear him?"

"Sir?"

"Is he as one would picture a monstrous murderer?"

Smith looked at the judge for a moment and then answered. "No, sir. He's been quite a lovely prisoner."

"Do you say that often or ever?"

"No, sir, I do not."

"Mr. Smith, can you recount the events that happened in your cell block the night before last?"

Smith leaned forward and hissed, "It wasn't exactly procedure, Sir."

Mycroft waved a hand at him. "Don't worry, Smith. It's an important story."

Smith looked at the jury. "The night before last, Price and I had duty over the good doctor, and one of the townspeople came to the prison. Apparently, there was a sick little girl that needed attention."

Mycroft pointed at him. "I'm confused, Sir. Do they not understand that Watson was a prisoner? Also, I believe that there already is a physician in town."

Smith narrowed his eyes. "Aye, there is. Dr. Dobson is the town doctor, but he's often busy out at the estates and such. Also, he recently added a five-pound fee for just walking in the door. The family didn't have the money. Dobson refused them at his door. The little girl had a high fever."

"But Dr. Watson is a prisoner?"

Smith nodded. "It was unconventional to be sure. The father was so desperate, and the village is small; many of the townsfolk followed him here. They told us to ask the good doctor if he would look at the little girl. At first, he laughed. He was a bit incredulous that we would ask, but then we brought in the father and when he saw the distress in the father's eyes, he quieted down. He asked that we bring the girl into his cell."

A murmur rose around them. Mycroft nodded. "And did you honor this most unusual request?"

"Yes, sir, we did. We brought the little girl into his cell. We brought in lanterns, blankets, and everything else we needed. He worked on her through the night."

"Did she make it?"

Smith bowed his head. "She did not, Sir, but we all saw how hard the doctor worked. It wasn't an act. He put all of his energy into her."

Mycroft raised a finger. "Perhaps, he did this to curry favor with the townspeople."

Smith snorted. "And what good would that do him! We haven't any say in what happens to Dr. Watson. We are simple folk. We can't even get the attention of the town doctor."

"This event had nothing to do with the murder in question. Correct, Mr. Smith?"

The prison guard frowned deeply. "I don't know, Sir. It sounds awfully philosophic to connect one event to the other, but I do know that I don't believe that he cold-murdered anybody."

"Your honor!" Cried the prosecutor.

The judge pounded his gavel. "Mr. Holmes, do you have any more witnesses, any legitimate ones?"

* * *

The Inn next to the courthouse had a private dining room. Mycroft performed a miracle of some kind, and Watson along with Mary and Mycroft were sitting at a large oak table eating a dinner of steak and kidney pie. Mary sat quite close to her husband urging him to eat his food.

Watson largely ignored her efforts, turning his attention toward Mycroft, "Putting Smith on the stand was a farce."

Mycroft looked up from his pie. "It was an effective establishment of your character."

"I am a doctor. Seeing that child was a responsibility, not an indication of my character."

"Really? What explains Dr. Dobson?"

"Oh, I get it. You're planning to pin the murder on him."

Mary winced. "John, don't be like this. From where I sat, the day was a success."

Watson sighed and then turned to her. "My dear, hope is a very dangerous sentiment right now. Emotion and goodwill will never overcome the facts."

Mycroft nodded. "He's right, dear Mary. I go in this direction merely because we have no facts to prove his innocence."

Mary nodded and said nothing. For a moment, there was only silence. Finally, Watson reached over and touched Mary's face. "My dear, it is important that I speak to Mycroft in private now."

She got up slowly. "I will see you again before you return to the prison?"

"Of course, Mary."

The door to the room creaked open and a decrepit figure shuffled in with a pitcher of ale. Mary passed him on her way out.

Mycroft frowned at the barman. "What is your business here?"

The old barman set the pitcher on the table. "The proprietor sends his compliments."

Watson turned to Mycroft. "Tell me about the matter of which I spoke to you yesterday. You have approached the judge about this?"

"As a distinguished member of the military, you should be allowed to choose. The judge understands this and will rule on it once the verdict is given."

The old barman turned and scoffed at them. "You've already asked for a firing squad rather than a hanging. It's not time for that."

"Holmes!"

"I'm right here," Mycroft said.

Watson shook his head. "It's your brother."

The old man pulled a white, straggly wig off his head and a hooked nose off his face. The dark hair and vital face emerged.

Watson sank back. "I was told you were out of town. I worried you wouldn't get back in time."

"For what? Your execution?" Holmes flashed his dark eyes. "The two of you appear to have given up."

"I'll have you know, Brother, that I have never worked this hard in my life."

"It's true. Mycroft was brilliant. Unfortunately, we'll need more than brilliance."

Sherlock sank into a chair and reached for the ale. "There will be no more talk of firing squads."

"Have you news, Holmes?"

"Yes." He took a long draught of the ale.

"You've found Tiny?"

"Yes."

Watson stood. "This changes everything!"

Holmes looked up from his ale. "It changes almost nothing. He's dead."

"No," Watson slowly sat down again.

"We found him about an hour ago in a gully half a mile behind the hotel. We lacked your expertise, Watson, but I would wager he was killed about two days ago."

"How? I don't understand."

Mycroft reached for the ale. "It was as you thought all along, Sherlock."

Watson pounded the table. "Well, I don't understand! Must I always be the dolt?"

Sherlock reached over to steady Watson with his hand. "Calm down, my friend. Many things have been learned since we last met. Tiny was merely a tool. There is a bigger villain afoot."

Watson grimaced. "He died violently?"

"After all he put you through, you still find sympathy for that man."

Watson nodded. "There was once a young man inside him, eager to conquer the world. He was once my friend, but my sympathy has boundaries. Right now, his death means to me that we can't prove my innocence."

Mycroft turned to him. "John, he cannot, but we can now establish that you weren't lying about his presence."

"The police don't know about his body," Holmes replied drily.

"Why? It's important that we establish Watson's story about McGinty being in the room."

"Because there is a witness you must put on the stand first thing tomorrow. Major Hillman. And he cannot know that McGinty has been found. He must believe that he is merely a character witness for Watson."

Watson stared. "You can't possibly think Hillman is to blame for any of this."

"John, for as long as I've known you, you've never been afraid of the truth. Especially when the truth is in the interest of justice."

"You know how deeply I believe in justice. It is one of the things that binds you and I." Watson bowed his head. "I trust you, Holmes, in all things."

Sherlock stared at him, his eyes rheumy with fatigue. "Then you fight with me until the end. We never give up."

Watson leaned forward. "You have to get some rest, Holmes. You can't keep going like this."

Holmes shook his head sharply. "Must I fight alone? Will you continue to treat this as a foregone conclusion?"

"I worry about you. I need you to be strong for Mary."

Sherlock slammed the table with his palm. "I am not giving up!"

Watson nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid to hope for too much. I have so very much to lose."

"I need you though. I need your resolute confidence in me and our ability to right all wrongs together. I need it, John."

Watson covered Holmes' hand in his. "And you shall have it."

"Really?"

Watson set his mouth. "I shall not disappoint you."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Thank you, Old Chum. Thank you."

Watson got up slowly. "Mary's been waiting for me downstairs as are my guards. I still need to find some time for her."

Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock and I have a great deal of work to do. Watson, please get some rest. I need you to be strong and clear in the morning."

Watson stopped to pat Sherlock on the back. "I'll do whatever you need, my friend."

Sherlock dropped his face in his hands when Watson was gone. Mycroft waited a minute. "Brother, you need to rest."

"Not you too, Mycroft."

"I'm afraid that if we lose Watson, then we will lose you too."

"Please, Brother."

"Okay then. What do you have for me?"

"I have been receiving telegrams about Hillman for three days now. I think there are several ways we could approach this."

Mycroft nodded. "Put away the ale then. We both need to stay lucid. I am determined that both you and I will sleep before the night is through."

* * *

Final Chapter in a week


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: I loved writing this story. The final chapter is quite long and involved. I hope you enjoy it. I have created a less than simple ending. I stuck to my gut and this is where it took me. I don't know when I can write again, but inspire me and we'll see. Please let me know what you think.

Sheila aka Professor Moriarty

Tiny McGinty

Chapter 7

The gallery was full with townspeople. Watson felt as heavy as a stone at the defense table. Mary sat behind him, her hand often resting on his shoulder. Hillman was standing with Mycroft in the aisle. "I don't quite understand." He whispered to Mycroft.

Mycroft frowned at him. "Come now, Hillman. I've explained it to you already. I need another character witness. You're the officer with the highest rank left in the regiment and you don't believe that Watson did it."

"Mr. Holmes, is your witness ready?"

Mycroft stood. "Yes, your honor, just a case of nerves." He grasped Hillman by the arm and pushed him forward.

Once seated, Mycroft approached him, hands clasped behind his back. "Major Hillman, how long have you known Dr. Watson?"

"17 years."

"And how would you characterize him?"

"Excuse me?"

Mycroft sighed. "What kind of fellow is he?"

Hillman cleared his throat. "Watson was always a good chap. Hardworking…honest. I've never had any complaints."

"Yes, very enthusiastic, Hillman. Have you an opinion on his innocence?"

"It…uh, Watson doesn't seem the type to murder anyone, but I also wasn't there when it happened."

"Another resounding endorsement, Hillman."

Snickers sounded from the gallery.

"Major Hillman, what was your relationship with the murdered commander?"

"He was my commanding officer."

"But in the intervening years, you have been business partners, correct?"

Hillman furrowed his brow. "I don't remember discussing that with you."

"Yes, Major, you never did touch on that with us, did you? Despite the time that my brother and I have spent in your presence."

"It was irrelevant. He and I parted ways two years ago. Seeing him last week was my first contact in quite some time."

"I see. Can you describe the nature of your business?"

"What does this have to do with this case?"

"I am exploring. Please indulge me."

"The commander and I were supplying international labor."

"Toward what end?"

"The Panama Canal project."

"Aw, the Panama Canal. Will it ever be completed? Thousands have died from disease and pestilence there. There have been reports of illegal slavery being the only means of finding sufficient labor for the project."

Hillman colored and slapped his hand on the bar before him. "Those claims are litigious! Nothing of the like has occurred. I'll not continue this line of questioning!"

"Hillman, you are being surprisingly obstinate. I thought you were thoroughly committed to Watson's innocence."

"As I have been, but your intentions are to defame me and I'll not have it." Shakily, he rose from the witness stand. "I can no longer participate in this farce. Clearly, your defense is to point in wild directions. I'll not be a part of it."

Mycroft merely watched as he stepped down and walked toward the door. He waited until Hillman had a hand on the door and then he spoke, "You're right to leave, Major. I was quite offensive. I think we shall have to find our answers elsewhere."

Hillman froze but didn't turn around.

"Actually, I have someone who is more willing to respond to these questions. Brother Sherlock, are you in attendance?"

Watson turned to the gallery. Holmes stood in the gallery looking a bit peeved that Mycroft had addressed him so familiarly. Mycroft turned back to Hillman. "If you leave, you won't be able to respond to any allegations."

Sherlock pulled a host of telegrams out of his pocket and headed toward the witness stand. Hillman turned, red in the face, looking ready to explode, but some internal process caused him to hold back. He walked back up the aisle and sat down next to Mary Watson. Sherlock saw this and gestured sharply to the gallery. Lestrade and Clark edged closer to him.

Mycroft waited until he was seated and then gestured to the jury. "Please introduce yourself to the good people of Essex."

Mycroft's theatrics didn't impress his brother, and it was with effort that he didn't wince in response. "I am the private detective Sherlock Holmes. I reside at 221b Baker Street in London."

"You carry with you quite a reputation, my brother."

Holmes frowned a bit. "I've had numerous successes."

"Yes, well, we won't dwell on that then. I imagine you were quite surprised when you heard that your friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, was accused of murder."

"It was unthinkable."

"You didn't believe then that he was guilty?"

"Never. Watson is a man of conscience. He is certainly capable of shooting a man but only in if a crime is in progress, and he would never fail to be truthful about it."

"So your intentions in coming here is to prove his innocence."

"Yes."

"Would you do anything to free him?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. "Watson and I are men of standards. Our aims are always in the interest of truth and justice."

"Have you discovered anything toward that end?"

Holmes shifted. "Not at first. It seemed that Tiny McGinty had skipped town and I was unable to prove that he had been with Watson."

"And what did you surmise?"

"Before we delve into McGinty, I would like to talk about Hillman."

Mycroft raised his brows. "He was just a character witness. Why did you reserve interest in Major Hillman?"

"He was very eager to help. In my profession, a man does that either because he is truly committed to justice or he wants to stay close to an investigation. In my opinion, it suggested the latter."

"How did you investigate him?"

"Primarily, I sent out as many fifty telegrams about Hillman and the commander in the hopes that someone would know reply with incriminating information."

The prosecutor stood. "Objection, your honor! These telegrams aren't evidence."

The judge considered this. "We can confirm or deny their relevance later. A man's life is at stake."

Holmes picked one up. "A friend of the commander confirms that his business relationship with Hillman ended badly. Apparently, the commander believed that Hillman was recruiting labor for the Panama Canal project illegally. Those recruited believed they were going to Panama for legitimate jobs, but became forced labor once they arrived. Most succumbed to disease or snakes."

"Was the commander planning to do anything about this?"

Holmes pulled out another telegram. "I found out that the commander was planning to meet with the Home Secretary this week about these allegations."

Mycroft stopped for a moment to let the jury get the full effect. Watson turned to his wife. It was then that he noticed that Hillman was sitting next to her. The Major had a gun jammed into her side. Watson looked ready to pounce but Hillman put a finger to his lips quietly. Then he signaled for Watson to quietly turn around again.

Mycroft continued, "I thought the investigation was supposed to focus on the existence of Tiny McGinty in the room at the time of the murder."

"As I said earlier, I first believed that McGinty had left town. But an investigation proved that this was unlikely. Then I believed that Mr. McGinty never left the hotel."

"Were you able to prove that?"

Holmes sighed. "At first, we set up a surveillance. I was convinced that he would sneak out of the hotel in the night, but this didn't occur. Then I realized that he had left the hotel but not the vicinity. We changed our efforts to a search."

"And what did you find?"

Watson started to stand, but Hillman reached forward with his free hand and pulled him down.

Holmes saw the desperation in Watson's eyes. He spoke slowly. "We found Tiny McGinty's body in a gully about half a mile from the hotel."

The gallery erupted. Hillman stood up, holding Mary closely to his side. Lestrade moved in closer. Watson leapt up and screamed, "He has a gun and he's holding it on Mary!"

For a moment, everyone froze. Hillman pulled her out into the aisle. "I'll kill her if anyone moves. All of you sit down again. Mrs. Watson and I will leave quietly, and everything will be okay."

Mycroft pointed a finger at him. "You hired McGinty to kill the commander so that he would not report to the Home Secretary."

"I told you to shut up!" Hillman moved her back to the door.

"We have evidence that you and McGinty met together regularly at a pub near your home in South London! My brother has telegrams!"

"Shut up, Mycroft!" Holmes poised on the edge of the witness stand like a lion ready to pounce. Watson was edging toward the aisle. Hillman was opening the door when Clark sidled up next to him with a pistol. The desperate man swung around with Mary in front of him. "Are you ready to watch her die?"

"Stand down, Clark!" Lestrade roared. Clark put down his gun and slowly sat down.

Hillman and Mary slipped through the door and slammed it shut. Holmes leapt from the stand and then vaulted the gate in the aisle. Watson was already at the door. Mycroft stood in front of the jury, stunned, his wig sitting askew on his head. Holmes turned to the anxious crowd. "Please stay seated. This situation requires skills that none of you have."

Watson yanked Clarky's gun from him. Screams and gunshots sounded outside the door, and Holmes burst through. There was a deputy shot on the ground. He was holding himself up by the elbow despite the blood flowing from his gut. He pointed to the stairs. "I startled him. He took the lady to the roof."

Holmes turned to Lestrade. "Stay here. Make sure he doesn't get back down." Then he jumped the stairs three at a time and Watson followed.

* * *

Holmes burst through the door to the roof without any caution. Hillman stood on the roof with the gun pointed into Mary's ear. The wind of a spring afternoon whipped at their clothes. Watson tumbled through after him. They both froze.

"Put down your guns!" Hillman shrieked.

Both Holmes and Watson put their weapons down on the slightly sloped rooftop. Watson moved a few steps away from Holmes. Hillman turned Mary in his direction. "Don't try to circle me."

Watson stopped moving.

"It was not my wish that you be charged with murder, John. I didn't even know McGinty set you up until afterwards when he showed up in my room, chortling about his clever plan."

Watson nodded. "I'm glad to hear it, Major."

"McGinty was too big and lazy to get out of the area in time. I hid him in my room. I lured him out the night that Holmes arrived and killed him. McGinty is the real criminal here."

"The jury will know that, Major." Watson stepped forward once.

Hillman grabbed Mary more tightly. "Stay back, Watson!"

"Listen to me," Holmes looked at Hillman with his arms spread. "We have to be smart about this. Holding a woman captive is not acceptable. If anything happens to her, there will be no possibility of defense for you."

"I'm not taking you in exchange, Holmes. You're a bit too clever for me."

"What about me, Major? I'm not too clever. After all, I let Stupid Tiny McGinty pin a murder on me. Exchange Mary for me. She's too frightened. You'll never get out of the area with her."

Hillman studied Watson for a moment. "You look thin."

Watson nodded. "Clearly, I am not at my best. I will not be a problem for you."

Holmes cursed. "If we must do this, then you must release Mary to me before Watson goes to you."

"No!"

"Major, you're the only one with a weapon. You're calling the shots, but I promise you that my friend, Watson, will not come to you until his wife is released."

The wind whipped around them and dark clouds began gathering in the distance. Hillman stared at them for a moment. "I will release her to Holmes. Then I will turn my gun on you, Watson. You must replace her as the hostage."

"Agreed!" Watson shouted above the blowing trees.

"Any signs of aggression and I will shoot her first, and the two of you after."

Holmes nodded. "Just send her this way."

Hillman let go of Mary and pushed her roughly toward Holmes. The strain and fear had worn the Major down. He misinterpreted a move from Holmes and shot at him. Holmes fell back before Mary could reach him.

"You shot him!" Watson howled and then lunged for Hillman. He grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to the rooftop. Suddenly, the two men were rolling around the edge of the roof, struggling for the gun.

Holmes rolled over on his side and struggled to get up, but he couldn't lift himself. He looked at Mary, "Gun."

She spotted one on the roof and scrambled for it. She tossed it to Holmes. He aimed carefully and shot Hillman in the head. Hillman rolled away from Watson, and for a moment, Holmes felt relief, but then Hillman reached out as a final act and grabbed Watson's leg. The momentum was too great. To their great horror, the two men rolled off the roof together followed by sounds of crashing and yelling below.

"John!" Mary screamed. She gathered her skirts and started toward the edge. Holmes reached out and grabbed the edge of her dress. With what strength he still had, he pulled her back to him.

He grabbed her tightly around the waist. "You can't look, Mary. He wouldn't want that."

"My husband!" She screamed. "He was my life!"

"As he was mine," Holmes whispered into her hair as he held her tightly. He was bleeding from a hole in his thigh, but he could think to do nothing but hold her as if she could blow away in the wind. For what seemed like an eternity, they lay intertwined while she sobbed into his chest. Weakness was taking over, and he started to wonder how soon his own life would flow away onto the rooftop. He felt very peaceful at the thought of it. It seemed right. Below, he heard yelling and the sounds of boots on stairs. Mycroft was staring into his eyes at one point and talking urgently to him.

* * *

Someone lodged an impossibly sweet piece of sugar under his tongue. He struggled to dislodge it. "There, there," he heard. "Let it be. We need to get some energy in you after the blood loss."

He felt at peace at the sound of the voice and murmured. "Anything you say, Watson."

Then the familiar chuckling. "He'll be alright. The bullet went clean through."

"Wake up, Sherlock." It was Mary's voice and the sound triggered the memories of the screaming and his Watson rolling off the roof with Hillman.

He gasped loudly and his eyes flew open. "Watson!"

"Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?"

It was Watson. He was on the ground beside him, sitting awkwardly, looking at him with a smile.

Holmes eyes' widened. "I saw you roll off the roof with Hillman."

"Indeed, I did." Watson moved gingerly. "I believe I dislocated my shoulder. I wish you were right so you could snap it back into place. I don't quite trust anyone else."

"Are you alive? Am I dreaming?"

Mary giggled. "We couldn't let you be unconscious for another minute with telling you. It was the awning."

Mycroft was there now. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"The awning?" Sherlock stared at his brother in confusion.

Mycroft lifted his shoulder gently and turned his face toward the courthouse. A broken awning still clung to the side of the building where Watson and Hillman fell. Holmes let out a ragged breath. "Watson!"

Watson reached over with his good hand and patted Holmes' cheek. "We were both lucky men today."

Holmes stared back at him. "I was the luckiest."

* * *

The warm spring sun gently baked them as they lounged in their chairs. Holmes lay back in his, a blanket across his legs, watching the clouds in the distance. Watson sat upright in his, a sling holding his damaged shoulder in place. Mycroft sat across from them, drifting off, a book in hand. Footsteps sounded, and they looked up to see Mary walking down the steps of the hotel toward them.

"Gentlemen," she announced. "The kitchen will be bringing you lunch in about 30 minutes."

Mycroft blinked awake. "And for me? I am not an invalid as they are."

She smiled down at him. "They will be bringing lunch for you as well."

Sherlock scowled. "We've been sitting in the sun like rotting fish for hours. There is no need for sustenance. We haven't done anything."

Watson glanced over. "Regular mealtimes would be good for you. You've lost a considerable amount of weight."

"Yes," Mycroft harrumphed. He pulled himself to his feet. "Since I have no excuse for inaction, I shall stroll the gardens before lunch."

He extended an arm. "Would you be so kind to accompany me, my dear?"

Mary smiled and took his arm. Mycroft was large, but he was a surprisingly graceful creature and she felt as if she were just gliding along. They walked together in silence for some time before he spoke. "You haven't been out of sorts, my dear."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Have I?"

"Quiet. Comtemplative."

"As we all should be. We almost lost so much."

He patted her arm. "We are friends, you and I, and while I haven't known you for long, I feel that something heavy is on your mind."

She bit her lip. "I don't know if I should talk to anyone."

"I will repeat nothing you say."

"It will offend you."

He chuckled. "Try me."

She took a deep breath. "I have always known that your brother loves my husband. I have always seen it as two men bonded in purpose and passion and regard. I once told Sherlock that I knew he cared about John as much as I did."

Mycroft nodded. "They are quite close and deeply bonded."

"When we were on the roof, and we thought John had fallen to his death…he said something. I can't remember what, but I felt like his grief was the same as mine."

"Explain, Mary."

"He's in love with John, isn't he?"

Mycroft stopped walking and looked at her. "I won't answer that."

She looked away. "It doesn't matter. I know what I feel."

"And what is it that you feel, Mary dear?"

She sighed. "I've spent this entire week thinking of nothing else."

"You feel threatened?"

"I feel like it's beyond his control or mine or John's. I think I should feel threatened but I don't."

"Sherlock has grown to care for you deeply."

She nodded. "I know. And he is a man of honor as is John."

"And if you weren't in the picture?"

Mary pondered this for a long moment. "They would probably be the same as they are now."

"Exactly, my dear. Sherlock is hardly capable of expressing love for a woman let alone a man, and I doubt very much that Watson would know how to make sense of it if he did."

"What can this be like for him?"

He chuckled and hooked arms with her again. "My brother needs to be in control. Everything he does, as reckless as it can seem, is of his choosing. To give in to something beyond his control is unacceptable. The only release he permits himself is his wretched drugs. That is his vice. What he has with Watson now is all he will allow, and I doubt that this will ever change."

"And this will be enough for him?"

"Most of us have little chance to feel such passion, let alone have it reciprocated. My brother is no simple romantic, Mary. What he has in his life right now is the best compromise he knows."

"I will never tell John this."

"It is how Sherlock would want it, my dear."

* * *

Sherlock nodded at Mycroft and Mary in the distance. "They are deep in conversation. I wonder as to the subject."

"Leave them be. I finally have the courage to talk to you of another matter."

Sherlock gave him a startled look. "Which is?"

"I struggled mightily with this, but feel it is best to have it out in the open."

Holmes shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The ability to walk away was not an option at present.

Watson breathed in deeply. "I think it is time we talk of your feelings, Holmes."

"My feelings?"

"I may not be the intellect you are, but I also know you well. I have seen the look on your face of late."

Holmes looked away. "I'm sure I don't understand."

"You're a man in love."

Holmes sat up as best he could. "I beg of you to not have this conversation with me. I decided a long time ago that this conversation must never take place."

Watson looked confused. "You've been feeling this for awhile?"

"You mean…a great deal to me, Watson, but I will not discuss this with you. It can come to no good end."

Watson frowned. "How long have you had these feelings for my wife?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Mary?"

"Yes, of course, Mary. Who else? I have watched you getting closer and closer to her."

Holmes sank back deeply into his chair. "Watson, I am most definitely not in love with your wife."

Watson ignored him. "I'm not worried, Holmes, nor am I angry. She is a beautiful woman and the two of you were thrust together out of necessity. It is natural."

Holmes groaned. "If only there was a gun within reach right now, I would finish Hillman's job on my thigh."

"Don't be silly, Holmes. I trust you completely. There was no betrayal. I don't doubt that for a minute. We shall simply have to find you a woman of your own, someone bright and lovely and brave- a bit different than Irene Adler though."

Holmes looked heavenward. "Dear Lord, if you could only deliver me from this conversation, I should endeavor to be less of a heathen."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Holmes. I am the one who should be upset."

"I respect your wife, Watson. I regard her highly, but I do not wish she were mine. Never have, never will."

Watson shook his head. "And here, I was trying to be magnanimous. I could take offense, you know."

Holmes chortled. "Yes, if there was actual reason for you to be offended, but there is not, Watson."

"You're insufferable, Holmes. You know that!"

"And you, Mother Hen, are out of your mind!"

"I'm sorry I brought it up."

"As am I. It is a ridiculous notion."

"Why? She's lovely."

"Watson, I shall club you with your own cane if you don't shut up."

"Why ever did I think I could have a civilized conversation with you?"

* * *

The End


End file.
